The Cinderella Theory
by Gingeh
Summary: “My latest theory," Motoki began, ignoring Mamoru's last sarcastic comment. "Involves something I had never considered before: Usagi’s shoes." "Why am I listening to this again?" "Don’t interrupt!"


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**The Cinderella Theory**

_A Sailor Moon fanfic  
By Gingeh, who, thankfully, doesn't own any vegetables. __...She also doesn't own Sailor Moon, but she doesn't feel like being thankful about that_

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It was a little after two on a weekday, and the arcade was almost completely deserted. The only customer was the ever-present Mamoru, who was seated at his usual barstool in front of the counter sipping at his coffee. Across from him, Motoki was staring blankly into space, absently scrubbing at the counter with a cloth. Mamoru ignored him, already suspicious.

"I have a theory," announced Motoki suddenly, snapping out of his vegetable state to grin creepily at his best friend.

Mamoru groaned. "_Please_ don't tell me it involves the supposed crush on me by-"

"Usagi," began Motoki.

"…the Odango Atama." Mamoru sighed in defeat. "Alright. What is it this time? She trips just so she can fall into me? She's really very smart, but just acts dumb as an attempt at flirting? No, wait, her overeating habits are actually a desperate effort to gain my attention!"

"You're exaggerating."

"That's the problem! I'm _not_!" Mamoru sighed, picking up a spoon and swirling his drink. "You have actually proposed _all_ those things!"

"Really?" Motoki thought for a second, and then shook his head. "Anyway, this one is different."

"You're going to have to convince me of that," Mamoru said. He paused for a moment to test the temperature of his coffee, and then continued. "I've heard your 'theories' so many times, and they're only getting worse."

"Hey!" Motoki threw his cleaning cloth into the bin beside him and turned to face Mamoru head on. "I'll admit the Cracked Table theory might have been a little out there…"

"When a man and a woman argue, and the woman gets so furious she slams her fist on the table so hard the table _cracks_, that does _not_ mean she broke said table with the force of her love!"

"Was that what I said?" Motoki scratched his head absently.

"Yes, it was. I'm not even sure where you got that from." He brushed some imaginary lint off of his jacket. "Most of your theories are at least somewhat scientific."

"All my theories are scientific!"

"Even that last one?" Mamoru raised a brow, and Motoki flushed.

"…Okay, maybe not the Cracked Table theory. But I'm getting desperate! At this rate, Usagi might move on, and you two will have missed out on the possible greatest romance in history!"

Mamoru snorted.

"And you wonder why she calls you a jerk." Motoki drummed his fingers on the counter, obviously frustrated.

Mamoru sighed. "Alright, alright. Tell me your stupid theory."

"It's not stupid!" Motoki defended, but his eyes lit up.

Mamoru leaned back in his chair, looking somewhat amused. "Sure it's not."

"My latest theory," the blond began, ignoring his friend's last sarcastic comment. "Involves something I had never considered before: Usagi's shoes."

"Her shoes?" Mamoru sounded incredulous. "Remind me, why am I listening to this again?"

"Don't interrupt!"

"Yeah, yeah."

"As I was saying," Motoki continued, somewhat huffily. "This theory involves Usagi's footwear."

"Footwear that is often thrown into my face," Mamoru muttered.

"Pay attention!" Motoki glared at him for a moment, and then began rummaging behind the counter. After a minute or so, he pulled out a piece of paper. He looked at it proudly for a minute before sliding it over so Mamoru could appreciate it as well.

Picking up the paper by the corner revealed something that looked vaguely like a complicated mathematical equation, punctured by various sketches depicting Usagi and Mamoru in different situations – arguing, mostly, but a few portrayed them in a kinder light. For instance, one showed the two sharing an order of fries, while another pictured Mamoru triumphantly handing Usagi a plushie, obviously from the claw machine behind the two of them.

Mamoru scowled. "Quite the artist, aren't you? I suppose these are all supposed to be real-life situations. But I don't remember these two."

"The fry picture was from about two weeks ago, remember? Usagi had just gotten her allowance, but had apparently lost her wallet somewhere. You bought her some fries, 'to stop her whining', as you put it. And she shared, because she was hungry and grateful and the bigger person."

"_I'm_ the bigger person!"

"The second picture," Motoki continued, as if Mamoru hadn't spoken. "Was when she was trying to win that Tuxedo Kamen doll about…two months ago? Maybe it was three…anyway, like the gallant knight in shining armor I know you are, deep inside…"

Mamoru rolled his eyes. Motoki ignored him.

"…You won the doll for her. That might have been romantic, but you ended up spending all of _her_ money to win it."

"That wasn't for her – I'd been trying to win that thing for the past week. Odango happened to show up with some money, and I used it." He shifted, stirring lazily at his drink. "Unfortunately, when I finally got it out, it really didn't do Tuxedo Kamen justice. Did you see its cape? The inside was _pink_! Everyone knows the inside of his cape is _red_!"

He scowled, muttering under his breath. Motoki surreptitiously backed away from him.

"So," he said, a little nervously. "You won it for yourself, using Usagi's money…and then realized you hated it and gave it to her?"

"Exactly."

"Oh," Motoki said, deflated.

"Is that all?" He looked at his watch. "Because I've got classes in about twenty minutes, and it'll take me fifteen just to get there."

"No, that is _not_ all!" Motoki growled, snatching back his paper from across the counter and stuffing it in his pocket. "I haven't even really told you my theory yet!"

"All right, all right…just make it quick."

"So, as I was starting to say earlier," Motoki began. "This theory actually involves Usagi's footwear – namely, the ones she is always throwing at you."

"I do NOT throw them at him – I throw them into space, and his head usually pops up for some reason!"

Motoki gulped, eyes sliding past Mamoru to rest on the furious blonde in the doorway. He smiled weakly at her, raising a hand to wave. "Oh…hello, Usagi. What are you doing here so early?"

She looked at him, eyes watering. "Motoki-onii-san, how _could_ you? You're discussing me with _him_," she gestured fiercely to Mamoru, who was smirking. "And you didn't even bother to defend me! You _agreed_ with him that I throw my shoes, and I don't! I don't!"

She sniffed, glaring hurtfully at the blond behind the counter. "I thought you _liked_ me, Motoki-onii-san!"

Mamoru grinned and started to say something. Usagi whirled to face him. "And you!" she screamed.

He clapped his hands over his ears, grimacing. "Volume, Odango, volume!"

"Don't _call_ me that! You jerk! Idiot!" She stomped her foot. "Quit acting all smug! You and your stupid jacket, and your creepy smile – it's infuriating!"

"You don't like my jacket?" He paused, and then added with a smug grin, "Odango Atama."

"_Arrrrgh!! _You're so aggravating!"

"Am I? I must be hanging around you too much."

"Quit turning around my comments!"

"But you make it so easy to do, Odango."

At his last word, Usagi's face grew bright red. "I told you _never_ to call me that!"

"Really?" He put on a thoughtful expression for a moment, and then shook his head slowly. "I'm sorry; I can't recall you ever saying something like that."

"_I said it about ten seconds ago!_"

"Of course you did," he said, voice positively dripping with false sympathy.

She glared at him for about a full five seconds, lightning practically shooting out of her eyes, before ripping one of her shoes off and chunking it at his head.

"You _jerk_!" she screeched as it impacted, and stalked out of the arcade in a flurry of blonde – wearing only one shoe.

Mamoru slowly peeled Usagi's sandal off of his face. Motoki couldn't help but chuckle as he noticed the shoe had left a red imprint. The dark haired man scowled at him. "I wouldn't be laugjing if I were you. _You're _the one she's really mad at."

"Mad at _me_?" Motoki stopped laughing and stared at him, incredulous. "She spent more then half of that conversation yelling at _you_!"

"Well, yes…but that happens all the time," Mamoru pointed out. "She _never_ yells at you. She practically _worships_ you."

The blond thought about it for a minute, then slumped forward, face crushed into the top of the counter. "You're right," he groaned, voice slightly muffled.

"Of course I am," Mamoru said smugly. "I can read the Odango like a book. I can practically tell you what she had for breakfast."

Motoki lifted his head slightly, eyes glittering with interest. "Really?

Mamoru looked at him a little nervously, quickly checking his watch. "Gah! I'm so late! My professors are going to kill me!"

He shoved some money across the counter and dashed out the door. A few moments later, his car could be heard screeching out of the parking lot as he beat a hasty retreat.

Motoki simply sat there, wearing a creepy smile.

"Knows her like a book, eh?" he mumbled, the wheels in his head starting to spin.

Abruptly, he frowned. "Hey, you _still_ didn't hear my theory!"

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After returning from his classes, Mamoru had found Motoki leaning against his car in the parking lot. After groaning loudly, he'd quickly pushed his friend into the passenger seat and driven to his witness-free apartment before the blond could say anything embarrassing. The two of them were now sprawled comfortably on one of his rich leather couches, arguing about Mamoru's comment from earlier that day.

"It's _not_ like that!"

"Sure, sure…"

"Look, for the hundredth time, when I said, 'I can read the Odango like a book', I wasn't implying anything even _remotely_ romantic. Haven't you ever heard the saying 'know thy enemy'?"

"You're just making up ex-cu-ses…" Motoki sang, slightly off-key.

The dark haired man leveled a glare at his grinning friend. "I am _not_! _You've_ just gone _insane_!"

"Of course, if that's what you want to believe, I won't stop you…"

"It's not what I choose to believe-"

"A-hah, so you admit it's the truth!"

"_Don't cut me off and assume weird things!_"

Motoki began to say something, but suddenly halted. He stared at him, mouth hanging open. "Are you…_blushing_?"

Mamoru gaped at the blond for a moment, and then slowly lifted his hand to his face. When his fingers touched his cheek, he pulled away as if they'd been burned. He stared at them, eyes wide, before looking back at Motoki.

"My face is hot. Why the heck is my face hot?"

Motoki grinned wickedly, practically drunk with joy. "You _are_ blushing! I didn't expect to make this much progress in one day!"

Snapping out of his incredulous state, Mamoru glared at him. "This is _not _progress – you're just lying! Tell me the truth! What did you do to my face?"

"That's the best part," Motoki crowed. "I _am _telling the truth! Look!"

He dragged his friend over to the bathroom and shoved his face into the mirror. Mamoru stared at his reflection for a moment.

"…You have _got_ to be kidding me."

Motoki stood to the side, rubbing his hands together gleefully. "I was right, I was right _all_ along," he chortled.

"There's no way! There _has_ to be another explanation!"

"But there isn't, is there?"

"_Get out of my house!_" Mamoru bellowed suddenly, pulling Motoki to the front hallway and roughly shoving him out the front door. He slammed it behind him, locking it with a decisive _click_.

Motoki, now in a heap outside Mamoru's apartment, mentally patted himself on the back.

"You can't avoid the issue forever!" he yelled to his friend through the door. He was rewarded by a faint growl and the _thump_ of something being thrown against the wall.

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_Two weeks later…_

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Mamoru had been absent from the arcade ever since the incident with Motoki at his apartment. If Motoki didn't know what was wrong, he might have been worried. As it was, he was just hoping Mamoru didn't try to drag this out much longer. Sure, his friend had his pride, and he'd never heard him willingly admit he was wrong before, but enough was enough. Mamoru was just going to have to suck it up and confess, or else…

"Maybe I should just do it for him…" Motoki mumbled. He was on his break, and had decided to take a walk around Juban Park. Looking ahead of him, he noticed two figures seated on a bench overlooking the lake.

"How sweet," he said, smiling. This really was a nice spot for a date, maybe he should take Rika here sometime…

…Wait a minute.

He suddenly dove into the bushes to his left, silently apologizing to any flowers he might have crushed. He started to crawl closer to the two seated on the bench. The dark-haired man, facing the girl with his back to Motoki, was saying something...oh, now the blonde was retorting -screeching, really.

Now the man was taking something out of his pocket, and kneeling down before the blonde…was he proposing? No, instead of a ring, he withdrew a shoe. The blonde's face was a light pink now, and her angry glare was slipping into a look of adorable confusion.

He slipped the shoe carefully on the girl's foot, and then stood. He held out his hand, and after a moment, the blonde took it. The man swept her into his arms, and she screamed. He chuckled, and said something, which caused the girl to blush and yell at him again.

The girl had her back to Motoki now, and the man was facing him. Motoki was close enough that he could tell for sure:

The girl had long, blonde, odangoed hair, and the man was wearing a green jacket.

Motoki grinned, and crawled backwards, leaving the two alone. When he could no longer see them, he stood up, and withdrew a notepad and a pencil from his pocket. The pages in the notebook were almost full, with many equations with think lines drawn through them. The blond turned to one of the last blank sheets, and wrote:

_Experiment complete. Cinderella theory result: Positive._

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_**Author's Note:**

_Hey, everyone! I am an author now, not an authoress, since I have recently been informed by my grammer-and-spelling master best-friend that 'authoress' is not a word anymore. Isn't that sad? *throws funeral for the death of authoress*_

_Anyway, welcome to my first Sailor Moon fic...ta-da! *throws confetti*. This is also my first fanfic where the title hasn't been in Japanese. Who noticed that before you read the authors note, raise your hands! ...xD._

_Silliness aside, though, I hope you enjoyed this story - I'm crossing my fingers in hopes that I got the characters personalities right. The last time I watched Sailor Moon was way back in 2007, and I've only just recently decided to go back and re-watch the whole series. That's the reason why Minako and Makoto aren't in this, by the way - I haven't re-met them in the anime yet, so I can't be sure I'll be able to write them properly. Ami and Rei aren't in this because...well, Usagi herself only makes one or two appearences in this story, and she's one of the main characters in it ^^;;._

_As usual, please **review**. It doesn't have to be a five- paragraph long critique (although that'd be fun for me to read), even just a 'good job' is really great to hear._

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